


Five Times Tony Blair Did Some Murders and One Time He Straight Up Died

by modbees



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Crack, Drunk Fic, Murder, New Labour, Politics, Violence, red tories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modbees/pseuds/modbees
Summary: I mean like, what else needs to be said my dudes?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by true events

It was Monday at Downing Street. A cabinet meeting was happening. Due to the Prime Minister’s constant attempts at spatial leadership, he loved his bilateral meetings more than anything. Sitting on a sofa with a top lad was the best thing about the job.

But today was different.

He’d poured his heart out to his cabinet, he really had. This supercomputer he’d devised was all set to go; he just needed the approval of the members of his kitchen cupboard.

It was the sad exchequer that spoke up.

“Mr Blair, this is not economically feasible. It would be too expensive to equip every citizen with brain chips and then upload them to a national network. Even then, don’t you think it constitutes as … I don’t know … a violation of basic human rights?”

 It was like a dagger to the uterus. His head swung around mechanically to Gordon’s sagging, grey, unaesthetically pleasing face which drooped like UKIP’s chances of ever becoming a legitimate political party. It was an innocent enough comment, but after all that, after the exposure which felt like he’d practically dangled his ball sack over his face, he couldn’t deal with such a betrayal.

Without saying a word, he stood up onto the table, his shiny shoes taking two very loud steps onto the mahogany desk. It was then that he lost all control, bounding towards Brown like a rabbit being let out of a rabbit enclosure, his hands outstretched and open.

Brown could only watch as Tony’s red face came closer and closer towards him. Tony slid the last leg of the distance and dove on his grey victim. His hands tightened around Gordon’s saggy neck until the slither of life that remained within him drained away

One designer shoe stepped over Harriet Harman’s face, before he displayed his chest to his kitchen cabinet.

“Anyone else?” he said with an unnerving, tearful smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An actual thing that once happened to me

The **_BRUTAL MURDER_** occurred the following week, with a long-standing Labour campaigner, Fanula Shattersby (whose name has been altered for the sake of privacy), who was sat outside a café after a long day of canvasing, enjoying a coffee.

For some reason, he felt enraged. Why was she enjoying a coffee while he was hungover, covered in piss and sat on a park bench? While chilling with his pal, President Mugabe, he had got a few tips. If you’re powerful, murder doesn’t count.

So he strolled over, lifted poor Fanula up by the shoulders and **_BRUTALLY  _**stabbed her with a Swiss army knife from his youth, then walked away into the streets with that weird teary smile on his face. Fanula stood in shock, and then proclaimed “OH MY GOD, IT’S TONY BLAIR” before swiftly dying, her blood staining the paving and scaring a small child.


	3. Chapter 3

The third took place in a Travelodge in Rotherham, where he was forced to lodge with normals. He hated the electorate with a passion, but he had to do what he had to do.

It was because of his diary, the place where he outpoured his soul, his most sordid sexual desires. He’d learned to keep his feelings hidden, especially after Gordon’s betrayal which ultimately lead to his strangulation. And Blair, the silly bastard that he is, had left it under his pillow for anyone to read! It was frankly inevitable that Tony would have to claim another soul.

The cleaner found it and had a cheeky little gander. Contained within a few paragraphs, were some of the most homoerotic transcriptions she’d ever read. Peter, it was all about that slimy little arms dealer he was infatuated with, from his greasy hair to his webbed, life-worn feet.

She must have been at there for ages. He spotted her.

With the might of a large majority in Parliament, he lifted her up and did that thing what wrestlers do when they smash their opponent on their knee. Ya know what I mean, google it man. She snapped clean in two and he tried to toss her segments through the window, but the windows in Travelodges only open wide enough for an ant to stick his dick in the gap so that wasn’t going to happen. He knew that someone was bound to have liked the unknown cleaner unlike his previous victims who were both utter shits. He decided his only option was to eat her. He opened his suitcase and took out his CANNIBALISM EMERGENCY KIT and carved delicate slices from her body. In a moment of disappointment, he realised that the turkey dinosaurs he’d ordered via room service would be RUINED by such a large consumption of human flesh beforehand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACKBREAKER. It's called a backbreaker. Googled it for you guys because I care about u


	4. Chapter 4

Murder number four came at a rather unexpected time. He was minding his own business on a Thursday afternoon, partaking in his favourite casual activity, power wanking out of a first floor window. His director of communications, Alastair Campbell strode past and Tony waved good morning with one hand and continued his strenuous activity with the other. Alastair found this questionable and thought that a public figure for which he was largely responsible shouldn’t be wanking out of the first floor window of a tax funded home. He’d apparently decided to confront Blair with his observations and entered Downing Street as Blair finished explosively on the helmet of the policeman who guarded the door.

Alastair entered Tony’s office who stood with his legs apart, his limp penis banging against his knees like the pendulum in a grandfather clock.

“Can I help you doc?” asked Tony.

“Yes sir. I just thought I’d let you know that I feel your behaviour isn’t really parliamentary and it’s not going to do your image any favours. We have enough trouble trying the hide the fact you are literally a murderering lizard man without you spraying your sticky white love piss on public sector workers. “

Blair said nothing. He stared purposefully at Campbell and began skulking sinisterly towards him. Once close enough, he grasped Alastair’s tit and pulled him towards him against the desk. He kissed his spin doctor, lovingly and evilly all at once and then savagely ripped his writhing tongue from his mouth with his teeth. Immediately, he reached around (cheeky) behind him and picked up a novelty foot long pen which was really difficult to write with and frankly unnecessarily impractical - not quite amusing enough to be allowed to exist – and stabbed viciously at his skull. It cracked in the middle and the pen squelched through his brain. Tony let go and the pen fell through where his heart should have been and out through his scrotum.

Campbell’s body fell like a sack of shit to the floor. Tony quickly chewed and swallowed the extra tongue in his mouth and smiled tearfully as he orgasmed once more. He pulled on his clothes and shoved Campbell’s body under the rug. Some say he’s still there now as no one has bothered to check if he’d dead or not because no one likes him.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

On a weekend in June, Tony Blair, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, decided it was time for the Queen to die.

The weekly meeting was ominously silent. Tony had always believed the Queen could read his mind, so wore a tinfoil hat under his hair whenever he paid her a visit. He’d seen on the internet that tinfoil protected you from alien mind control, so why not the Queen’s psychic rays?

So, as he assumed the Queen was skimming over his lustful thoughts, he said, straight into her face without smiling:

“Debate me. One on one.”

To this, she simply smirked. Again, he felt anger bubble up inside him. His plan was to destroy her with his words of epic disrespect blud, but that plan seemed out the window. He was both undermined and upset.

As a result, he resorted back to his previous tactic; run across the table with your arms outstretched towards her majesty. The jowls were tucked neatly behind his fists as he squeezed the insipid life out of her until her head popped off like when you kick a fire hydrant too hard.

Like his previous foray in Iraq, blood was everywhere. And again, he got some cheap oil out of it. Over a kilo of baby oil was left to him in her will.

He left the palace that day feeling proud, slippery and a smidgeon murderous.


	6. Chapter 6

While this all had been happening, in his hut in Rochester, Richard Dawkins was slowly bubbling with rage. This Faith Foundation thing had gone on for too long. He crawled out to look at the daylight for the first time in months, and, like a bat that has escaped from its enclosure, winced at the sheer intensity of it.

Without a weapon and with his rage alone, the tattered, senile man made his way towards Downing Street.

A decade later, he finally made it. Unfortunately, Tony no longer lived in Downing Street as a result of him being a shit Prime Minister. So he had to crawl to the next meeting of the Faith Foundation, which coincidentally was being held somewhere nearby.

The place was packed with wrong people; people who are wrong. And Tont was leader of the wrong people, and was planning on making a speech to them that night.

But Dawkins had others had other ideas. And a bicycle chain.

Blair was stood outside in the London breeze that smelled of death and foreigners, hoping to get some air before the speech. It was at this point in the narrative that Dawkins beat the shit out of him with said bicycle chain. Like a crab, Tont scampered away, bleeding copiously and attempted to leg it down the street away from his slightly haggard (understatement)  attacker.

Still scuttling like a little peen, Blair attempted to cross the road alive.

This failed shitly.

Of course, as fate had it, a ‘we send the EU £350 million a week, let’s fund our NHS instead’ bus flattened him the way a shoe flattens a bit of blue tack, but a bit more messy. His insides splurted out of him like a crushed mango.

And his spree of murder, was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ARE WELCOME GOOD NIGHT


End file.
